


I was broken and alone

by ArimaSama



Series: Everybody Knows [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, 鬼滅の刃 | Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba (Anime), 鬼滅の刃 | Kimetsu no Yaiba (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Harry Potter is Kibutsuji Muzan, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Muzan-centric, Pre-Canon, Sad Harry, Time Travel, Time Travelling Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:22:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29799441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArimaSama/pseuds/ArimaSama
Summary: (in that hell I called my home)In the end, he was grateful Dudley shoved him off as the boy once known as Harry got the chance to live on as Muzan, without the weight of his relatives. There was no one who told him what he had to do and by the sun and the moon above, no one would take away his newfound freedom.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Kibutsuji Family, Kibutsuji Muzan & Kibutsuji Family
Series: Everybody Knows [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2190354
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	I was broken and alone

Little Harry shivered as the cold of the night crept inside his little cupboard. The tattered blanked his aunt Petunia gave him barely covered his far too tiny body for a boy his age. Winter had just passed in England and yet nights felt colder and colder each passing night. Tears spilled out of his eyes as Harry struggled to wipe them away. The wounds on the palm of his hand stung from when Uncle Vernon forced him to clean the broken glass shards with bare hands. ‘You broke the glass,’ he said. ‘This is your punishment for wasting money.’

‘But it wasn’t me,’ little Harry argued only for Uncle Vernon to grow even more mad. That has been two days ago and he had yet to be released from his cupboard. Hunger clawed at him from inside and the cold of the night almost burned him from the outside. If only the sun could come out and warm him. The sun always made him happy. It didn’t judge him, it comforted him when his cousin Dudley would laugh at him. Working in the garden was his favorite pastime as the other residents of Privet Drive preferred to stay inside and watch TV. 

There was a time little Harry also wanted to watch TV but it only played the same thing over and over again. That was boring, always the same routine. He didn’t understand how the others could watch it for hours, always the same. A shiver ran through his body and made him cough lightly. The taste of metal tainted his tongue.  
He knew that wasn’t good. The last time it happened, Aunt Petunia had to give him medicine. It tasted very bad but it helped him become healthy again. If it weren’t for Aunt Petunia taking it away after a small sip, Harry would’ve drunk the entire little bottle. But she said only good boys got to drink a lot of medicine to become big and strong. His thoughts started to wander, hoping to ignore the cold.

Dudley hated taking his medicine and always cried and complained. Little Harry didn’t understand why. Didn’t Dudley also want to become big and strong? Every time Dudley looked a bit ill, Aunt Petunia immediately gave him his medicine. She said it was because he had diabetes. Uncle Vernon blamed Harry for it but said boy didn’t even know what diabetes was.  
One day he’d know what all those complicated words meant, Harry promised himself. Then he’d have to listen to no one except the voice of his heart because he knew more than them. Uncle Vernon said all smart people had to listen to no one. But what did they listen to instead? It had to be the voice in their heart, right? 

His Aunt said there was no voice in his heart and he just imagined it but little Harry knew otherwise. She didn’t listen to the voice in her heart. Many adults did but little Harry wouldn’t. He saw how Aunt Petunia struggled, her face looking pained every time she looked into his eyes. He didn't want to be pained by something nothing could heal.

The cry of an owl startled him as the cold made its presence known again. Maybe there was a medicine against the cold? Little Harry would find it. He’d ask his Aunt or maybe the old cat lady the street down. She didn’t scream at him like his Aunt did. But she smelled like cabbage and cat poop. When it was vacation time and the Dursley’s went on vacation for a few days, they’d leave little Harry with her saying that he was a bad boy and didn’t deserve a fun time. Even if he did his best to be a good boy, they only yelled at him and locked him back in his cupboard.

Dudley was a good boy. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia said he was strong. Maybe he had to be strong as well in order to be a good boy. When Dudley punched him, the pain was stronger than when one of his cousin's friends punched or kicked him. Maybe he just had to be a strong boy in order for his aunt and uncle to recognize him as a good boy? Another shudder wrecked his small body as the pain became unbearable. The sun would rise soon and then he’ll be happy and warm again. That was everything he wanted. The old cat lady said that hugs felt warm as well. Little Harry didn’t know how a hug would feel but it sounded nice. His thoughts sidetracked as he started to drift off.

The voice of Uncle Vernon startled him up as the heavy steps made their way down the stairs. Dust trickled down and made little Harry’s eyes sting. He spent the entire night awake, the pain almost making him cry. But now, awaking with the morning sun, he only felt numb. Familiar voices joined in. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were also awake. But it was too early, wasn’t it? Carefully searching for his glasses as to not aggravate his injuries, he tried to think about why they’d be awake at this point of the day. A scream from Dudley reminded him. Today was the yearly vacation. 

Uncle Vernon won a trip to a foreign country for his family but they had to be at least four people to cash it in. So they said he had to come as well. Vacation sounded fun but little Harry would rather tend to the garden and the old lady's cats while they were away. It gave him time to think and to read the books the old lady, he couldn't remember her name, gave him.   
But he couldn’t. And it made him sad. Why did he have to listen to the adults? The cupboard door was unlocked and Aunt Petunia threw in a fresh change of clothes and a stale piece of bread. She said he had to look presentable or more people would think he was freaky.

Little Harry thought freaky meant scary but how could he be scary? Maybe if he was indeed scary, they’d leave him alone. The ride to the airport was filled with Dudley thrashing around and yelling excitedly. It gave Harry a stinging in the back of his head. He didn’t know what it was called but Uncle Vernon also complained about something similar every evening.

The airport itself was so big, Harry couldn’t help but stare. It was sooo big! One day he’d have something just as big and confusing. Adults apparently loved building confusing things so he’d do the same. The houses in Privet drive always looked the same, boring. He wanted something that never made him feel bored. Uncle Vernon’s scratchy voice made him move as they boarded the plane after waiting for a lot of time.  
He didn’t mind the waiting. The flowers in the garden took a long time to bloom but were even more beautiful. The lady at the flower shop said that the longer it takes, the more satisfying the result was. Little Harry agreed as she showed him the beautiful blue and red flowers of her small shop.

Maybe Harry could help her out, she suggested and he nodded. But Aunt Petunia said no. That day, he felt sad the entire car ride home. His relatives seemed to be satisfied about his obvious struggles. There was a flower shop at the airport but Harry couldn’t see any adults there. Maybe they didn’t like flowers. But why didn’t they like flowers? Maybe they lost appreciation of what was truly beautiful?  
The red flower he saw was especially beautiful. It didn’t leave his head even after hours stuck on the plane. They left the cramped plane for a stop and had to wait for another four hours. Aunt Petunia said he could look around as long as he didn’t do anything bad.  
He spent the time looking at the garden inside of the airport. The Dursley’s didn’t have a garden within their house. But a garden under the sun was better. Maybe he could have both one day?

On the second plane ride he imagined how he’d live as an adult with a big confusing house and a garden and a lot of flowers. He was shaken awake by the plane landing. “Welcome to Japan.” the captain of the airplane announced.

-x-x-x-鬼-x-x-x-

The country named Japan felt so lively and happy. The sun shone with even more happiness and the people smiled at him. He really liked it. Their language was really different but he couldn’t help but feel fascinated. Harry also wanted to learn it. He wasn’t sure if one could learn more than one language until one of the Japanese-looking people greeted them at the hotel in perfect English after speaking in Japanese to one of his co-workers. It made him question how many languages there actually were.   
The room they gave him was nice. Because they won a resort ticket for four people, the lounge they stayed in had four rooms with a bed each. Apparently, he was allowed to sleep in the smallest one. He was also served lunch and the staff was so nice. They always smiled and him and he couldn’t help but smile back. 

Aunt Petunia said no one wanted to see his smile but these people always giggled and gave him sweets. Maybe it was because this was a different country? Perhaps the people in England didn’t like smiles? Uncle Vernon always said he was a true British. Or was it because these strangers had no relation to him? If his relatives, his aunt, uncle and cousin treated him like dirt but these strangers who didn’t even know him praised him like this, how much was the blood of family flowing in their veins truly worth? He never chose to be with them, was never even given a choice. The thought disappeared as quickly as it came, only leaving a bad aftertaste.

Little Harry spent the first day in the garden surrounded by cherry blossoms as one of the English-speaking gardeners pointed out all the different flowers for him. His relatives preferred to stay in their hotel rooms to rest. How boring. Harry returned to his room as the moon slowly crept across the horizon. He felt satisfied because they gave him a lot of food and didn’t get mad at him once.   
It felt like a dream. He spent the night sleeping soundly, only waking up to wander to the balcony. The moon hung above the trees. The hotel rooms were so high above that it almost felt unreal. Even if the moon incorporated the cold endless night, it still felt comforting, but unlike the sun lulling him in warmth, the darkness kept him hidden and safe from the prying eyes of others.

He liked it like this, feeling free as the moon watched over him. Maybe the night wasn’t so bad.

-x-x-x-鬼-x-x-x-

The nice lady at the reception said he wasn’t allowed to stay in his hotel room unsupervised so his relatives begrudgingly took him along on the tour. The building loomed over him as the tour bus drove them through the city. It took them a few hours to leave the bustling metropolis. Lush trees covered the mountain ranges as the temple for one of the Shinto gods stood proudly before them.  
Apparently, there were a hundred more of these strewn across all of Japan. The tour guide said the gods would listen if you prayed to them and left a small gift. So when they were allowed to roam the temple, little Harry made his way towards the center of the shrine. He didn’t know how it worked but after observing one of the other visitors, a male in his early twenties with curly black hair and an expensive-looking suit, he quickly knelt down clasped his hands together and prayed. 

Looking back, he always couldn’t remember what exactly he prayed about but it didn’t matter anymore as he just let his thoughts roam freely through his head. The voice of the tour guide brought him back to reality but before he left, he placed down the small brooch shaped like a sakura blossom he received from one of the gardeners.  
It was the first gift he had ever received and he didn’t want to part with it but it was all he had. Angering the gods wasn’t something he wanted to do by taking the offering back. The ride in the bus towards one of the other sights, he thought about his decision of leaving the brooch behind. It made Harry feel a pain in his chest that he didn’t like.

The second sight was a really big and old-looking mansion located on the side of a cliff. Apparently, a rich family lived here a thousand years ago. It looked similar to all the other old and traditional buildings he saw yet it somehow looked way different. Harry thought how it would be to live here with the river at the foot of the mountain and the cherry blossoms blooming with the garden full of flowers. Apparently, a great tragedy took place a few hundred years ago and now the spirits of the residents lived here and came to haunt the living after the sun set. Others who attempted to stay for the night awoke in the middle of the forest with bite and scratch marks littering their body.

The tour guide explained the bloody history to a greater detail as a shadow in the corner of Harry’s eyes caught his attention. None of the adults noticed as he crept closer towards the forest. Harry saw the shadow disappear into it. Maybe it was one of the ghosts? The temperature dropped in the shade as he maneuvered through the thick foliage of the many low-hanging trees.   
Rays of sunlight peeked past all of the leaves occasionally and made the scenery look like a part of a fairy tale. Thick roots hindered him yet he climbed above or ducked below them. Moss made his footsteps almost silent and he felt like a predator hunting its prey like he saw it on the television. Excitement rushed through his veins. 

A sound like running water perked his interest. Harry almost stumbled as the bushes made way to a cliff with a river running along the bottom of it. Entranced by the sight, he didn’t notice Dudley creeping up to him. He only felt two small hands on his back as there suddenly wasn’t any ground below his feet. Time felt as if it slowed down and he turned to look into his cousin's eyes filled with so much spite. The water came closer and closer and with his last thought, he sent a prayer towards the sun shining above him.

-x-x-x-鬼-x-x-x-

Voices arguing beside him awoke little Harry from his sleep. A cough racked through his tiny frame as pain shot through his head. His small tummy hurt and he was hungry. The voices stopped and someone lifted his head. Something touched his lips and a warm liquid poured down his throat. Swallowing hurt but he didn’t have another option. It calmed the pain in his tummy.  
The voices continued to argue but much quieter this time. Hearing the melodic voice of the lady, the warmth in his tummy and the soft bedding below him lulled him back to sleep.

When he awoke again, the smile of an elderly lady greeted him. She gave him more delicious and warm soup. How nice of her, even if he didn’t understand a word she said. When she started saying something that sounded like questions, little Harry attempted to answer but it only made him cough more. His throat hurt and the kind elderly lady shushed him.  
Little Harry didn’t understand a thing they said but the residents of the home he stayed at just smiled at him. They weren’t angry at all. It was obvious they were Japanese. Maybe they found him after he fell? Time passed quickly and the elderly lady helped him learn their language. His brain was young and picked up the language easily after a year.

He kept quiet when they asked for his name. If they couldn’t associate him to the Dursley’s, then he wouldn’t have to return. They lived traditionally with no electricity. It was nice. They let him sit in the garden. He couldn’t tend to the flowers himself as his frail health wouldn’t allow it but the gardeners explained what they did and how to recognize each flower.  
The woman he learned to be the matriarch of the house, Kibutsuji Akiko, always dotted on him, held him close when he awoke from his nightmares or sat with him when his frail body failed him. Little Harry always picked himself up, not wanting to disappoint these people. It felt like family, it felt like home.

One night, barely a year after he arrived, when he couldn’t sleep, plagued by nightmares, he picked up a conversation between the matriarch and the patriarch of the house Kibutsuji. They discussed how their first child died at the age of four and how he, Harry, looked so much like him and appeared only a month after the young heir passed away. They were even the same age.  
The neighboring clans wouldn’t know if Harry would take up the mantle of the next clan head after they died, she argued. He was sent by the gods. The argument continued as little Harry quietly listened. What if he died because of his sickness like their own child did, he questioned his wife, not wanting to cave in. He wont, she answered, tears gleaming in her eyes. We’ll call all the doctors, pray to the gods even more, I won't lose another child of mine.

So when they once again asked what his name was, Harry kept silent. After a long look from his wife, Kibutsuji Ichijo gave Harry his new name. Kibutsuji Muzan.

-x-x-x-鬼-x-x-x-

Even with his frail health, little Harry, now named Kibutsuji Muzan, enjoyed life as much as he could. His new parents doted on him when they had some time to spare and gave him every book and scroll he asked for. A part of him was glad his body was sickly as his father often went to war against one of the neighboring clans. War was something he didn’t enjoy. Muzan once accompanied his father to one of these battles at the age of eight. The smell of blood almost made his stomach turn and he had to spend the next week resting. On that day it was decided, that he’d stay at home and never lift a weapon. Young Muzan felt a burden lift from his frail shoulders.

The elderly lady who was now his grandmother, Kibutsuji Yutori, taught him in her free time. From etiquette to reading and writing as well as the theory behind many physically active things he couldn’t perform. Years passed like that and Muzan turned twelve in the blink of an eye. The lessons on etiquette to turn him into the heir of the family ingrained themselves into his very being. Even as his body failed him, he kept his back straight and his voice low.  
Nightmares still plagued him but he learned to wake up by himself. It wouldn’t do screaming and waking his family. They already worried enough. So as he breathed in the cool air of the night with the moon hanging above him, he wondered how the Dursley’s fared. Horrible, he hoped. He knew his bad health was the fault of their neglect.

At first, he didn’t understand the word nor the definition. Even now, years after he left them for this new family, the kindness of others still surprised him. The first time grandmother tried to unravel his past, he denied all such claims. Muzan saw how one of the other lords treated their slaves, punishing them harshly or just letting out their frustration on them. The Dursley's didn't treat him like that. Neglected yes, but never abused. 

The time Muzan spent with the Dursley’s felt like a bad nightmare. Memories repeated themselves in his head at night and he couldn’t block them out. It felt silly as now, eight years later, he couldn’t even remember their faces yet their voice still echoed through his head. But within the arms of his new mother, he could rest without being haunted by his past. This was the feeling of family he truly craved, no pressure or expectations, only the warmth of his father's laugh and his mother's smile. He’d do everything to protect these people. They chose him and he chose them. The blood of his old family lost its meaning to him.

Those hands on his small body, hurting him, leaving him in the cold dark cupboard beneath the stairs. His sickly body wasn’t the only reminder of that time. Small scars, almost faded, littered his body.  
He was told how strong he was for fighting his illness. But he wasn’t strong, he’d never be strong. All of the doctors said he wouldn’t even pass his twentieth birthday. How was that strong?

It was their fault, it was all their fault.

More years passed as his health deteriorated even more. He drowned his doubts in books; tales about myths, poisons and medicine, flowers and their language. Everything he could get his hands on to sate his growing curiosity. His family supplied him with everything they could get their hands on. Muzan wished he could see all these fascinating flowers for himself, he wished he could travel across Japan, perhaps even the entire world. But it was nothing but a dream far away.

He remembered the towering buildings of the futuristic Japan. Perhaps he somehow traveled back in time or even to another dimension, studying religion gave him many different viewpoints on life. How impossible was the thoughts of other worlds or perhaps even magic? Sometimes a book on the other side of the room suddenly appeared beside him or other things moved on their own. When he attempted to manipulate objects consciously, it took a lot of his energy and made him sleepy but it was possible. The small ball of energy within his body he located after long hours of mediation was what kept him alive for so long.

In the end, it was just another chance wasted. Seeing the tea cups float and the laws of nature bend to his will satisfied something deep within him. This was something he had power over yet it weakened him even more. So he let the magic be magic and focused on his studies, only occupying his truly spare time with magic. At day, he basked in the warm rays of the sun, reading or studying his newly acquired books and scrolls, at night under the light of the moon, he studied the stars and made small bulbs of lights fly across the garden. How wast and endless the world above him was. Servants often found him like that, not having the heart to wake the young heir, they placed more blankets on him and let him have his sleep.

The confines of his room made him anxious and he craved to walk below the open sky. In the dark of his room, he felt the walls closing in on him and the moldy smell of his cupboard stinging in his nose. Muzan would rather spend the last minute of his life staring at the open sky, the beautiful and bright sun or the iridescent moon and stars.

-x-x-x-鬼-x-x-x-

If asked about his illness, Muzan would smile and say he’d get over it. But after seeing so many doctors who said there was nothing to be done, he felt hopeless, the smile nothing but a finely crafted and perfected mask. If it weren’t for his family insisting on trying, he would’ve given up on finding a cure.

They loved him and cared for him. His mother didn’t want to lose another child and he understood it. So he drank the medicine provided. He hoped this rather pushy doctor would leave as well after realizing his medicine wouldn’t do anything. Playing along was all he could do at this point. He resigned to his fate as long as he could lay beneath the warm sun. More often than not did he snap at the servants for interrupting him. He felt restless yet had nowhere to go. Trapped inside his own body. Muzan tried to control his temper but failed at the sheer incompetence the people around him displayed. His parents blamed his growing body as he was barely seventeen years old. It would get better, they said. Bold of them to assume he’d live long enough to grow out of it. 

So as Muzan one day awoke with his lungs strong and his body re-energized, he couldn’t believe it for a second. The medicine apparently worked. His parents were overjoyed as he stood before them, his previously thin frame now filled with strong muscles. The energy, he resigned to calling it magic because what else should he call it, within him previously weak now brimmed with life and the moment he was alone, he lifted books and scrolls into the air with a flick of his finger, not even breaking a sweat unlike before. He broke out in a sincere smile for the first time in years. So many possibilities.

Yet reality caught up quickly. As he stepped foot outside into the bright light of the sun, it burned him severely. His screams made his parents rush only to find their child on the floor, arm burnt off almost completely. It healed after some time yet the light of the sun was something he could never touch again. Enraged, his parents called for the doctor only to find him dead in his room, body cold and quite dead. With the doctor and creator of the medicine that cursed him now dead, there was no one able to ease or reverse the damage done. His trips outside were limited to the nights. At least he was healthy, everyone argued. But without the warming sunlight on his skin, everything felt even more constricting.

-x-x-x-鬼-x-x-x-

Meals prepared by the cook tasted revolting. Maybe the sudden change of his body caused Muzan to lose his appetite for the time being but after weeks passed and nothing changed, his diet was reduced to half-cooked meat. His mother joked around that the doctor turned him into a yokai, a spirit often depicted in Japanese mythology as animals with supernatural abilities like shapeshifting. Considering his ability to do magic that they didn’t know about, the idea wasn’t too far-fetched.

The smell of blood tingled in his nose and enhanced his hunger. Father often smelled like it after he came back from his feuds with the neighboring clans. It made him wonder how it would feel to plunge his teeth into their flesh. He spent his days longing for the touch of the sun, trying to ignore the hunger that gnawed within him. At night, Muzan took long walks through the garden and the forest, his hunger keeping him awake. That was how he found the cliff with the river flowing below. It still looked the same. A servant found him here almost 14 years ago after Dudley pushed him off. What would’ve happened if he didn’t follow his childish need for adventure? 

In the end, he was grateful Dudley shoved him off as the boy once known as Harry got the chance to live on as Muzan, without the weight of his relatives. There was no one who told him what he had to do and by the sun and the moon above, no one would take away his newfound freedom.

Life was good to him, even with his newly placed restrictions. It went downhill after assassins attempted to kill his parents. The smell of blood intensified and made Muzan drool. He slaughtered the three attackers and devoured their mutilated corpses in front of his horrified mother and father. As his blood lust diminished and his thoughts cleared, a single look towards his parent made the raging blood in his veins freeze. The look of terror on their faces.

Muzan turned and fled into the dark of night, ignoring his mother's pleas.

-x-x-x-鬼-x-x-x-

During his travels through the country of Japan, he learned how different the life between nobility and commoners was. Muzan spent the first years learning everything he could about his abilities and limits. Sunlight truly was his only weakness as nothing else managed to permanently harm him. That was quite convenient as the humans he preyed on tried to kill him more often than not. With his never-ending hunger, the mountain of corpses left in his wake grew higher and higher. At first he attempted to justify his actions by eating only the people he thought deserved it. The thugs and murderers of the world. But after slaughtering an entire small village, he asked himself; What gave him the right to judge these humans. What drove humans to do atrocious deeds, were all these villagers truly innocent? 

In the end he decided that; No, they weren’t innocent. He tasted the corruption of humanity running within their blood. Not even the children were spared. The killing got easier as he lived on, there was no difference, everything was the same. Why bother being picky? He saw what humans were truly made of. Creatures filled with nothing but greed and fear of the unknown. Justifying their actions with the excuse of death. Blinded by the beliefs ingrained within their being since birth.

But without the threat of death, Muzan truly saw what others denied even with their last breath. The thought made him chuckle. They would all die one way or another, it didn’t matter if he killed them or they’d die on their own. 

Years of traveling letting him pile on knowledge that simple books never could’ve granted him. Time passed and people aged yet he remained young, ageless. Bored. At least the moon kept him company.

-x-x-x-鬼-x-x-x-


End file.
